


Things you thought you left behind

by highboys (orphan_account)



Category: Kuroko no Basket
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-10
Updated: 2012-10-10
Packaged: 2017-11-16 00:57:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/533710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/highboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years is enough history to count.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things you thought you left behind

**Author's Note:**

> Used the prompts at 30_kisses but left the pairing unclaimed.

Takao's in his first year of uni when he realizes a few things. First, is that it's easy to miss conversations with people he used to see every day. Second, that it's easier to think about them less than he expects it to be.

Takao rarely checks the morning's horoscope these days. Waking up for breakfast is too bothersome when his first class begins after lunch, and there isn't anything to eat in his apartment that he doesn't have to cook for himself first.

"Besides," says Takao, on the phone with Miyaji before lunch as he lets a bowl of pasta cool in a strainer, "Shin-chan can take care of himself, right? I mean, I can't always be at his beck and call. That'd be really dumb."

"You realize this _now_ ," says Miyaji.

"After three years," Takao agrees. He tries to take out the pasta with a pair of chopsticks, and resorts to tongs instead. "What the hell did I do with my life, yeah?"

"Welcome back to the world of sane people," is all Miyaji has to say about it.

"Cheers," says Takao, and ladles a spoonful of sauce on his plate.

 

 

1\. look over here

 

 

From one to six Takao is at uni, and after that is a few hours of socializing at a bar that doesn't get the freshmen carded. Some days he has to spend the night at a friend's, too drunk to remember his address, or his name. His phone tends to die early on those days.

It's not like it'll be like this forever, he tells himself when a classmate buys a round for the group. There are exams, and this will get old pretty soon, and maybe the owner will wise up and ask for his ID one day. Until then, he has his share of drinks and mild flirtation.

He'd spent three years babysitting the most awkward boy in the history of Shuutoku, and for the first time in a long time, he can breathe without having to gauge how pissed off an upperclassman is, and how to dodge a punch. He's the one being taken care of, for once, hunched over a toilet and thinking, _I'm never drinking again_ , while someone pulls his hair back with a hairband and rubs his back.

Some days it's Midorima that does exactly that.

"Did we ever do this in training camp," he groans out, as Midorima slaps a wet towel to his forehead. He takes Takao by the chin when his color regains some semblance of normalcy and briskly rubs his face with the cloth.

"No," says Midorima, icily. Takao winces when his thumb almost pokes him in the eye. "Look here and not down, I can't keep the rest of you steady."

"That's pretty," ambitious, Takao means to say, only the word gets lost in his stomach churning. He pulls away and gags.

"Never again," Takao chokes out, half a sob, and half a promise. Midorima rolls his eyes, but doesn't reprimand him at all.

Both of them don't count on it.

 

 

2\. news; letter

 

 

No one really expects to hear anything about Midorima from him, for two reasons. Mostly it has to do with a silent consensus that whatever Midorima does with his life, no one really wants to know. Partly, it's because they don't even go to the same school anymore.

Takao doesn't even consider _trying_ for Todai with his grades, never mind the entrance exams. Todai takes in approximately three to four thousand freshmen a year, and the odds of anyone with a passable average sans a sports scholarship or a very impressive talent test result are slim to none. Shuutoku is a good school, one of the best for sports, but it isn't enough.

Midorima, though -- everyone knows he'll go places, someday, for all his insufferable quirks. It's expected. Takao's met his parents. He knows what he's talking about.

With Takao it's less of certainty and more of tenacity. If he likes it enough, he'll throw in the time and effort. If he doesn't, well.

There are reasons Takao's gone through so many clubs in middle school. Love, isn't one of them.

Maybe.

 

 

3\. jolt!

 

 

Senior year of middle school comes in bits and pieces to him, now, like some distant extension of himself he doesn't remember having.

He's lived through it, though; he remembers knowing the exact weight of defeat, still fresh from subsequent losses that followed even in high school. Never the champions, almost close enough but still lacking worth, or skill. They could have been legends, in another story.

Another thing he remembers: the first time Midorima brushes him off, gaze barely settling to examine him before flickering to something of greater interest, like the wall. Something in his stomach clenched, like he'd fisted it in hand and never let go. Even now, that sensation is familiar, in some ways.

He doesn't know how, but less than a year later, it isn't so uncommon to hear Midorima-and-Takao from classmates and upperclassmen, and Takao would be lying if he said he didn't derive perverse pleasure in watching Midorima's frown deepen.

"I think we're friends," he had said, when Kimura asked, "sort of?"

"Shut up, Takao," Midorima had muttered, and stalked off to the locker room to change.

 

 

4\. our distance and that person

 

 

Takao doesn't expect a lot from Midorima by way of friendship as he's known it his entire life; Midorima seems to operate in a plane completely disjointed from the rest of the populace and lives a charmed life despite (because of) it.

Like, when Midorima comes to practices with his taped fingers and his eccentricities that make the coach ponder the state of the youth and Ootsubo seek extra solace in punching Midorima's locker after practice. Or, when Midorima painstakingly impresses upon him the importance of gathering data and using it to his advantage, never mind that Takao doesn't really believe in things like fate that much. Midorima doesn't get his ass kicked at all.

Midorima isn't fearless, for all his selfishness, though; the senpai seem to realize too little of exactly how much of a child Midorima is, inside.

Sometimes, though, he wants to ask if it were easy for Midorima, to strike his own path. If it would be easy to leave him behind, too.

He hates himself when he thinks like that. _Hates_.

 

 

5\. "ano sa" ("hey, you know....")

 

 

Not everything Takao remembers about Midorima is wrought with teenage pain and social suicide, though.

On the other hand, not everything is about talent, either.

It all comes down to this: some days when the rickshaw is abandoned in favor of jogging and Midorima's hands are free and open, Takao takes his hand and tries to cross the gap between their fingers, the difference in widths. Not tight, but not too loose either; it's the only way to hold on to Midorima, with space and with enough presence to make him aware.

"It's not bad like this, you know," he could have said. He doesn't remember beyond the roughness of Midorima's palm, the pads of his fingers, how it must have felt cradled in his hand.

 

 

6\. the space between dream and reality

 

 

"Are you sure you didn't imagine that," says Midorima, skeptic even with a crepe in hand.

"Of course I didn't," says Takao. He points at Midorima with his spoon, dripping syrup on the table. "It totally happened!"

"Of course," says Midorima, patronizing even when he's wiping at Takao's mess with a tissue.

"Thanks for ruining the mood," Takao complains. He bites into his crepe more viciously than he intends to. "We don't see each other for _days_ \--"

"I was with you last night," says Midorima, scowling. "You fell asleep on my thigh, remember."

"Hours," says Takao, flippantly. "My point still stands."

"Why do I go out with you," says Midorima, to a slice of banana. The fruit disappears into Takao's mouth seconds later.

"It's the same thing I used to ask myself every day," says Takao, licking cream off his fingers. "Can I have another bite?"

Midorima's scowl deepens. " _No_."

 

 

7\. superstar

 

 

Joining the basketball team and making it to the regulars is the ticket to instant popularity; they don't even try hard for the Valentines favors to come in droves.

On average, Miyaji's record is beaten only by Takao. Midorima would have more if he'd been gentler with girls, if they didn't expect the worst. As it is, Miyaji is good-looking and personable albeit a little short-tempered but sweet on girls. Takao is all of these things too, sans the ever present need to throw something at Midorima's head.

Takao shares his haul with the rest of the team, out of sight from his classmates. Midorima's the only one who snubs his homemade favors, even if he looks like he really, really wants a piece.

"Too bad the offer's only valid once," says Takao, waving the box in front of Midorima's face, like it holds all of the world's answers and Midorima has no guts to open it.

" _Out_ ," Midorima yells, pushing Takao away from the shower room.

It doesn't work that easily in college, Takao finds, but he hopes he still gets more chocolate than Midorima does.

 

 

8\. our own world

 

 

When Takao isn't terrorizing Midorima's personal space via ill-advised ways to spend his Friday nights, they play video games together.

"No shogi, no chess, no board games except for Monopoly," Takao had declared, when Midorima looked at the case with an air of superiority. " _Someone_ has to teach you how to be a kid, for once."

"I'll defeat you," Midorima promises. He really does like delivering comeuppance to Takao.

Takao would devote more time to counting the creases on Midorima's brow and teasing him relentlessly for it afterwards if Midorima weren't so insufferably good at Tekken too, like he is at most things. But Takao has the benefit of experience and a wealth of knowledge beyond simple button mashing, and wins more often than he loses.

He likes it better when Midorima draws out the round to the last precious seconds, when it matters most, and if Midorima wins -- well, Takao always did like the self-assurance in Midorima, the confidence in his victories.

He sets the controller aside, and presses Midorima into the couch, mouth hot and aching from his smile.

 

 

9\. dash

 

 

On weekends Takao jogs around campus, sometimes with Midorima, mostly alone.

Rainy days are the worst; cleaning the mud off his trainers constitute dumping his shoes in the sink and praying the stains come off a few hours later, and it's no wonder his mother gets a conniption over the state of his belongings. It's hard to put off exercise for favorable weather conditions, though -- once he stops, it's like it all amounts to nothing, in the end.

Midorima doesn't train as much as he used to in high school -- none of them do. But sometimes Midorima's stare lingers at the street courts, when they pass it, and Takao has to slow his pace to yell at him to catch up.

If Midorima still plays a round or two, he doesn't tell Takao.

 

 

10\. #10

 

 

The number of times Takao has gone to Midorima's spans the number of digits on both hands, give or take a few toes.

Takao does not wonder who Midorima takes after in terms of affability. The less there is to be said about the Midorima household, the better.

They stock up on good tea leaves and rice cakes, he gives them that. On afternoons Midorima's parents are absent, he and Midorima camp out in the kitchen table, doing homework while the kettle sits on the oven and the microwave warms the confections for a few seconds. Midorima always serves tea with cups that Takao is afraid to break, Midorima's fingers steady and poised a counterpoint to the way Takao's seem to shake gracelessly in its imitation. Takao never does manage to down the rest of his tea -- too bland, too hot, too unlike him for it to be comfortable.

"I should bring over soda for you," Takao thinks aloud, in between integrals. Midorima reaches across the table to correct a digit, close enough that Takao can see the length of his eyelashes, clearly. Takao bites his lip.

"Don't be an idiot, Takao," says Midorima, without heat.

 

 

11\. gardenia

 

 

Takao's mother has a small garden at the back of the house. Takao has no idea how to name the flowers, much less differentiate them from each other, but sometimes, when Takao's mother replaces the flowers in the vases, Midorima comments on them idly.

"Orchids," says Midorima, while Takao slaves over English homework and compound complex sentences.

"Lavender," he says the next, resolutely finished with literature despite how Takao has laughed at his metaphors for a good five minutes.

"Gardenias," he says, and finally Takao looks up, exasperated.

"You," says Takao, "are a freak."

Midorima turns red, the color blossoming past his neck. "It's perfectly normal to know the names of plants if I'll take up Biology."

"You'd know all about normal, wouldn't you," Takao scoffs.

Midorima doesn't stop his routine commentary, though.

 

 

12\. in a good mood

 

 

On days when Takao is in a good mood, Ootsubo takes advantage of this and foists the care and feeding of Midorima to him more than usual; Takao plasters himself to Midorima's side and doesn't get irritated when Midorima's appalling conversational skills reaches a new low and he manages to single-handedly offend an entire club and their mothers.

Some days he even finds it endearing.

It's on these days that he feels especially brave enough, like anything he says or does can only produce beneficial consequences. Which is precisely why, after a grueling round of finals, he turns to Midorima and offers him a wry smile.

"We should move in together after we graduate," says Takao.

"No," says Midorima, squinting down at his glasses as he wipes them with a piece of cloth.

"Oh come on," Takao wheedles, obstinacy and stupidity at war with his common sense and the prospect of getting Midorima to give in, "it'll be fun! You, me, a fridge full of beer and snacks and a night of slacking off? Perfect."

"Tempting," says Midorima, loftily, "but no."

"You're missing out on a proper college experience," says Takao.

"I fail to see the propriety in your plan."

Takao crosses his arms over his chest and resorts to dirtier tactics. "I should call senpai and tell him how your rejection _completely crushed my heart_."

Midorima looks haunted. "I'll think about it," he bites out, like it aggrieves some deep, instinctive part of him to concede to _Takao_.

Takao's good mood lasts for the rest of the week.

 

 

13\. excessive chain

 

 

Other memorable things about high school: Midorima is made captain, against all sense of decency and rationality.

No one is pleased but Takao, but even he has his (considerable) reservations.

On one hand, the paperwork is enough to make Takao want to quit altogether, never mind Nationals, so Takao is more than happy to lob the position at Midorima. On the other hand, it's _Midorima_.

"I know that you were vice captain in Teikou," says Takao, looking back at a chain of freshmen and juniors that lay immobile on the ground, "but do you think the shock and awe strategy will last until after winter break?"

"It's why I have you beside me," says Midorima, with surety and no embarrassment at all. Takao almost falters half-jog at that, but he catches himself in time.

"That's cheating," says Takao. "Why'd you have to be so cute, Shin-chan?"

Midorima's tenure is, quite possibly, the least formidable captainship Shuutoku has ever seen. None of the freshmen can take Midorima seriously off-court and out of practices when Takao is a few feet away.

Until training camp, that is.

 

 

14\. radio-cassette player

 

 

March is the period of apartment-hunting for the slothful and irresponsible. Takao puts up with his mother's nagging and suffers through a breakfast of overdone eggs and a cup of milk while the radio tunes out the rest of his mother's platitudes and woes.

"Couldn't you be more like that friend of yours, Kazu-chan," she sighs as she replaces the water in the vase. "That tall, polite boy with the glasses and the… you know."

His mother is under the impression that Midorima suffers from domestic abuse, or a horrific accident from his childhood, what with the taped fingers and all. Takao doesn't remember correcting her about it, but he does enjoy the bewilderment on Midorima's face whenever his mother cautiously airs out her apprehension towards his physical and emotional well-being. The pamphlets she pockets in Midorima's bag don't help either.

"I don't understand," Midorima had said, the first time he'd unearthed a brochure on burn marks and ointments.

Takao doesn't pretend to understand his mother either.

"Trust me," says Takao, through a mouthful of wheat bread, "you wouldn't want me to end up like Shin-chan _at all_."

Masayoshi Yamazaki's voice croons, fragmented, from the radio. Takao beats it with his fist, annoyed at the static. His mother frowns, but does not stop him. "Why not?"

"He doesn't do well with strangers," says Takao, half a lie. "Besides, who'd charm all the ladies from the homemakers' association, right?"

His mother smiles, the corners of her eyes creasing, like his. Midorima had said, once, that Takao takes after his mother in a lot of ways. Takao raises his cup, and downs the last of his milk.

"My errant son," she says, and shakes her head.

 

 

15\. perfect blue

 

 

His mother will never know, perhaps, exactly how fitting her description of his ways was.

She'll never know of how sometimes he pulls Midorima into the reference section of the library during lunch break to steal some words out of Midorima's mouth, or how he'd locked his room one afternoon with his mother in the kitchen and his sister on the phone in her room, Midorima's knees digging a mark into Takao's mattress and the frame shaking with their weight.

She'll never know to what extent Takao clams up when Midorima looks at him, past him, how he clamps down that familiar pull of longing when Midorima stares up at the clouds after morning practice, his eyes almost blue in the light, refracted, and serene.

If she imagines that video games and drinking is the extent of notoriety that goes on in his room, the truth of it would break her heart.

Play acting, is what some (Midorima's) parents would call it, only Takao thinks of the sky reflected in Midorima's eyes and it doesn't seem like that at all.

 

 

16\. invincible; unrivaled

 

 

Shuutoku's former captain leaves a legend in his wake. From freshman year to senior year, Midorima was the ace whose transgressions were forgiven on the basis of his skill. Takao feeds the rumor mill with vague assents to any inquiries the underclassmen send his way.

No one really musters the courage to ask Midorima directly, even if it would make things far less complicated than they are. No, Midorima does not have a private coach at home -- that's for piano lessons, taken far more seriously than any recreational sport. No, Midorima did not sacrifice his soul to the Inari Shrine. No, Oha Asa does not really work, Takao's tried and it did nothing to salvage his trig exam. Shuutoku's set up an overly fanatic cult devoted to horoscopes and divine intervention. Takao blames Midorima's classmates for that.

The only true rumor is that Midorima never misses a shot. Anything outside of the court is another story.

 

 

17\. kHz (kilohertz)

 

 

Come winter Takao takes longer to rouse. He sleeps through his alarm and through Midorima's five wake-up calls, carving a snug space into his futon and dreaming of things to come.

By half past twelve, he finally pokes his head out of the futon and snatches the phone from where he'd thrown it in a fit of rage at six in the morning.

" _Why do you do this to me_ ," he says, brokenly. His mouth tastes like leftover pizza and pepsi, rotted. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and debates the merits of brushing his teeth now versus sleeping in some more.

"You have a lecture at one," says Midorima, snippy even through the weak signal. "Why are you still at home?"

"I'm taking the day off," says Takao. He puts Midorima on speaker phone, and wonders if he can play Angry Birds long enough for Midorima to give up.

Midorima sounds honestly baffled, like it never even crosses his mind, ever the honor student with the perfect attendance record. "Why on earth would you do that?"

"What? You don't ditch class on your birthday?"

"No," Midorima scoffs.

"Sucks to be you then," says Takao. He plants a kiss to his phone, wet and loud enough to be grating. Midorima sucks in a breath. "Don't forget to bring cake later!"

"I'm not bringing—"

Takao hangs up and welcomes the blessed silence that follows. It makes him feel lonely soon enough.

He crawls back into his futon and sleeps.

 

 

18\. "say ahh...."*

 

 

Takao's last birthday, he'd spent gleefully ordering freshmen around. Sometimes practices run him thin and dry, and sometimes it pays to be the upperclassman. Takao becomes even more reckless as an authority figure than anyone originally thought he would be.

"I was wrong," says Ootsubo to Midorima, visiting afternoon practice and watching Takao run after the juniors with a mop. "You're the softy, not him."

"I'm not," is Midorima's only defense of his capacity to terrify his subordinates into obeying his every will.

"Shin-chan," Takao hollers, waving a hand out impatiently, "I need the keys!"

Ootsubo doesn't stop laughing for _days_.

 

 

19\. red

 

 

Midorima and Takao split a bag of confetti candy on the walk home. Takao's grown a little taller since freshman year, but he still doesn't quite reach Midorima's height. None of the regulars do, not since junior year, and while Midorima's earned more than a few admiring glances from the female persuasion, Midorima doesn't seem to notice how everyone's lifelong wish is to be tall enough to box his ears.

It's probably the only blessing god can afford Midorima at this point.

But anyway, there is candy between the two of them and Midorima is pointedly inching his fingers away from the brush of Takao's knuckles, the sharpness of his bones. Takao pretends not to notice the tension in Midorima's shoulders, how he barely lets Takao come closer. So Takao talks, and talks, and talks.

When they reach the station, the bag is near empty. Takao crushes it in his fists, the plastic shining red and discomfiting. It's bright enough that Takao can watch its lazy arc as he tosses it into the waste bin, bright enough that he can opt not to look at Midorima for a few scant moments.

Even three years later, there's still some awkwardness in both of them that they can't fully grow out of.

 

 

20\. the road home

 

 

Takao goes out at three with his keys in his bag and his wallet in his back pocket. He types a list of ingredients into his phone as he walks, then thinks better of it as he nears the grocery store and erases the entirety of the memo.

He grabs a basket and passes the produce section, then thinks better of it and comes back to retrieve a pack of strawberries. Out of season, the expense is greater, but Takao has a can of condensed milk waiting to be opened. If Midorima bails out on him, at least he'd find some consolation in fruit.

He'd gone shopping with Midorima, once, on a training camp, manager-less and punished for infighting. It hadn't even been Midorima's fault, for once, except the juniors were a little persistent and Ootsubo was already reaching the edges of his fraying temper, and Midorima could never be counted on to keep his peace, at the worst of times.

"You really shouldn't have done that," Takao had said, not for the first time, nor the last.

Takao doesn't remember what Midorima had said -- if he'd said anything at all. What he remembers, at least, is staring resolutely at a kilogram of rice and counting the days until graduation. It isn't that Takao's patience doesn't run out; some nights he fantasizes that Midorima will be whisked away on an exciting scholarship to some far off region, never to return, except that would mean less chances of winning at Nationals, less work, less glory.

He should get a medal for it.

It's laughable to think about now, considering that Midorima's mellowed some. At least he _deigns_ to be kinder to his peers, although Takao can't say for sure exactly how many of his coursemates are plotting grievous bodily harm on his person. He wonders if Midorima gets along with them. If he's lonely.

Takao grimaces and dumps a bottle of salad dressing into the basket. "Now I sound like _my_ mother," he mutters, and resolves to go home as soon as he stocks up on noodles and seasoning.

He lingers by the ice cream section, though. Midorima would want matcha flavored ice cream, and more tea.

 

 

21\. violence; pillage/plunder; extortion

 

 

Takao sits out the rest of the matches in December of senior year. He spends more time in a hospital than in the gym for the month, giving his mother yet more reasons for histrionics.

"What if you missed your exams in January," she says, taking out her frustrations on an apple from the gift basket the coach sent. "Then you'd be a ronin and you'd spend your time lazing around in your room while the rest of your classmates became productive members of society."

It's almost a relief when Midorima comes over to visit, on a Saturday. Takao shoos his mother out of the room and yells at his sister to get out and _stop staring, Shin-chan's really shy_ even as Midorima's brow develops a permanent tic.

"Well?" Takao says, after five minutes of Midorima glaring at the window, past Takao's foot, encased in a cast. "Aren't you going to yell at me?"

"You fell off the ski lift," Midorima grumbles. Takao tilts his head, and deliberately leans forward to stare at Midorima.

"You pushed me, if I remember right."

Midorima looks panicked, almost. " _Your hand was--_ "

"My hand was perfectly fine resting on your knee," says Takao, sounding completely innocent. "Anything it may or may not have done afterwards is completely unknown to you because _you pushed me off when we were five feet above ground_."

Midorima sulks some more. Wordlessly, he offers to peel an orange.

"You'll get the juice all over your bandages," says Takao, putting up a token effort at courtesy, never mind that he's never been known for his politeness.

" _Takao_ ," Midorima grinds out. "Hand me the damn orange."

 

 

22\. cradle

 

 

On average, Takao spends approximately 60% of his time thinking about Midorima. Most of it is fond reminiscence warped by time and a propensity to think better of human nature. The willful suppression of other memories helps, in part.

Sundays are spent leaving indentations on his futon and whinging at Midorima as Midorima reads. When Takao feels a little more affection-starved and a little less intimidated by Midorima's vocal threats, he pulls Midorima closer, cradling his head against his chest.

"I'm so bored," says Takao, tucking Midorima's hair behind his ear and knocking Midorima's glasses askew in the process. "Bored, bored, bored."

"I'm trying to read," says Midorima, pointedly bringing his book closer to his face.

"No one reads in bed on a Sunday," says Takao. He lifts his hips to drape over Midorima's waist, trapping him.

" _Takao_ ," Midorima sighs.

"No reading," Takao insists. "Except if it's porn. Then feel free to read aloud."

Midorima stubbornly refuses to look at him for the rest of the day.

 

 

 

23\. candy

 

 

Takao's mother sends Midorima some other things before he goes home. A pack of tea leaves, for his parents, only to be consumed and wasted by Takao at a later date. One of her plants, small enough to display in his room, after Takao had remarked on water lilies and birth flowers. A few pieces of candy, before dinner.

Takao eats most of the caramel as he walks Midorima to the intersection. Midorima is always quiet, after leaving Takao's house, thoughtful in the ways only guilt can bring. Takao distracts him with more candy, and less silence.

When they reach the stoplight, Midorima looks like he wants to say something, only he can't find the right words for it, if there are any. Takao knows what they are, but like the passing of a red light, he doesn't give Midorima enough time to dwell on it longer.

They say their goodbyes, unresolved, unchanged.

 

 

24\. good night

 

 

In middle school, Takao's basketball club manager used to send everyone group messages every night. He'd gotten so used to the steady beep of his phone, like clockwork, and the stream of encouragement she'd afforded all of them despite crushing losses. When he lost his phone in high school, he'd missed the support. Takao is rarely sentimental, but some parts of him mourn its loss.

He wonders if Midorima keeps his messages with the same obsessiveness Takao does to his, or if he deletes them at first sight. Takao's heard stories of Midorima's callousness through Kasamatsu, but he barely receives the brunt of Midorima's ill wishes through text.

Calls, though, are another matter.

"It's eleven in the evening already," says Midorima. Takao imagines the displeasure on his face, in his mind. The curl of his lip, like he doesn't know what to do with his mouth. "What do you want?"

"Did you really tell Kise to go die?" Takao asks, toying with the hem of his shirt.

Midorima takes a deep breath, like he does before he throws a pencil at the opposite wall. " _Goodnight_ , Takao."

 

 

25\. fence

 

 

The apartment he rents has a walled area to keep out the strays. The neighborhood cats have largely been successful in infiltrating the space, and Takao feeds them scraps to congratulate them, sometimes.

He leaves the remaining few bites of his waffle on the ground and makes his way to the stairs. His apartment is on the third floor, but he needs the exercise and his neighbor isn't as bad as the ones below. He fumbles with his keys, teeth occupied with a plastic bag of ice cream, the rest at his feet.

It takes a few more seconds to find the light switch, and he carries the grocery bags inside without much hassle. The ice cream he leaves in the freezer, and there's soda in the fridge, and beer, for Takao. The tea leaves Takao stores in the cabinet, for Midorima to find later. After he's put away most of the items and left half a kilogram of pasta boiling on the stove, he calls Miyaji on his phone.

"Oh," says Miyaji, by way of greeting, "you're still alive?"

"I bet you'd like to say that to Shin-chan, wouldn't you," says Takao.

Miyaji laughs, because it's true.

 

 

26\. if only I could make you mine

 

 

Barring Midorima, Takao is closest to Miyaji. They'd bonded initially over a shared frustration of unreasonable people, and Takao was never really afraid of him, despite Miyaji's relative harshness to the underclassmen.

Takao did not magically decide that he was in love with Midorima in freshman year. It took far longer than that, and it was entirely Miyaji's fault.

"Can we stop talking about Midorima for a second," Miyaji had said, after one particularly grueling practice session.

"No," Takao had said, "you don't understand. I _have_ to talk about this. It's the only way I can get it out of my system without jumping Midorima at some point."

"Don't you do that already," Miyaji had said, disgusted.

"Oh god, senpai," Takao had yelled, " _it's not like that_."

Except it really was.

 

 

27\. overflow

 

 

It's nearly dark out by the time the pasta is ready. Takao almost spills the water to the floor as he wrestles with the strainer and the pot, all while talking to Miyaji, who is absolutely no help whatsoever.

"Where's the miraculous brat anyway?" Miyaji asks, after Takao lists off the things he has to use for the sauce. No one really expected Takao to be able to cook, given how fervently he'd ducked out of cooking duty in training camp, but the surprise is something Midorima can live with, if only Takao would exert himself more. Takao pointedly never wakes in time for breakfast to spite him.

"I dunno," says Takao. He picks apart a clove of garlic and crushes half of it with a pestle. "We don't really talk much, these days."

"Really?" Miyaji's voice drips with incredulity.

"Yes, really," says Takao. He wrinkles his nose. He hates having to sort the skin from the usable flakes. "I don't even know his schedule. I zoned out after I heard 7 AM."

"Freak," they say in unison. After high school and morning practices, none of them want to live through waking up at the crack of dawn anymore.

By the time the sauce is coming to a boil and the pasta has long since cooled, Takao has enumerated the number of annoying habits Midorima has in the privacy of his home. Takao doesn't believe a word about girl's being more susceptible to gossip; he knows: he's a bigger one than his sister could ever hope to be.

He just likes to think of himself as amiable, that's all.

 

 

28\. Wada Calcium CD3

 

 

Since middle school, Midorima's taken vitamin pills to supplement his diet. Takao thinks the benefits don't make up for the sheer repulsiveness of the taste, but as long as Midorima doesn't get too creative and emulate Seirin's former coach, he leaves him alone.

Takao doesn't like to kiss Midorima afterwards, the aftertaste lingering bitter in his tongue. Takao groans against Midorima's jaw, clean-shaven with a small bruise where Takao had sucked into the skin moments before, and turns his head, wrinkling his nose.

"It's not that bad," says Midorima, visibly affronted. "It's better than the first time you--"

"That doesn't count," says Takao, batting him away. "Now brush your teeth! Go, go!"

Midorima drags his feet, contrary on purpose. Takao pulls him down to sit on the couch and uses Midorima's thigh as a pillow, blinking at the blur of the TV, and Midorima's head, bent to touch his nose to Takao's cheek.

 

 

29\. the sound of waves

 

 

After washing the dishes, Takao turns on the TV and rests his chin on the coffee table. It's quarter to seven and a special feature on the beaches of Sapporo is airing, the low hum of the background music and the soft tones of the presenter lulling him in and out of sleep.

He'd been to the beach with Midorima for training camps, before. Sometimes at night they'd walked along the shore in their slippers, getting sand on their feet and tossing shells and rocks back to the ocean. More than once, he'd wanted to strip off his clothes and wade in the water, just to see how cold it was, but Midorima had frowned and insisted that there were jellyfish in the water, like he hadn't seen the number of children and teenagers taking a dip only hours before.

Once, he'd drunk so much Asahi Midorima had to hold him back from going into the water. Second year, Takao thinks. Takao would have kissed him if he weren't so busy trying not to empty the contents of his stomach on the beach. Midorima's fingers were bare, his hand cold against Takao's forehead as he brushed his bangs out of his eyes. He hadn't scolded him then; he didn't have the heart.

Takao must have told him he loved him, though. He must have, or Midorima would ever have kissed him the day after that.

 

 

30\. kiss

 

 

The sound of the door being unlocked wakes him up; Takao looks at the surface of the table blearily before raising his head.

"I'm home," says Midorima, tugging off his shoes, first, and then his jacket. In his arm, he cradles a box of cake, from the bakery Takao likes. Takao remembers, suddenly, exactly how much Midorima leaves him at a loss for words.

"Welcome back," says Takao, and rises to meet him with a kiss hello.

 

 


End file.
